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Hope-filled Hospitality & Resurrection Readjustments

I have been experiencing some
hospitality lately.I’ve been meeting
with people in coffee shops and making my way from house to house these past
weeks and next weeks, being welcomed in for coffee, muffins, cake, parfait and
tea, and lovely tables with beautiful cups and saucers and the most fun
conversations.There is something
about sitting down across from someone and choosing to be present in the moment
right now, giving each other your attention, listening to stories and eating
and drinking together, that reminds us that we are not alone, that we are alive,
that God is trustworthy and that we are blessed.

In this season of Eastertide we are
spending some time in hospitality with the Resurrected Jesus, or, at least,
with the disciples while the resurrected Jesus comes and goes here and there as
he pleases, and they keep sitting across from him and getting their lives
readjusted.

Mary at the tomb, Thomas in the upper
room, Cleopas on the road to Emmaus, Then last week we saw Jesus appear to the
disciples just as they were telling stories about him, and resort to eating
fish in front of them to help them believe he was really there among them. Today
we see him cook them some fish on the beach, and remind them of who they are
meant to be.

Next Saturday, we will get to meet
a group of people, most of whom have been church together for 20 years. They’ve
weathered ups and downs, and right now are in a time of unknown and
change.They have unique strengths
as a congregation, passions and interests that are different from ours.They are grieving some loss, in the
shadow of some death, and on the brink of some resurrection as well, navigating
those waiting waters, those discernment days, asking God what is coming next.

And in two weeks they will worship
with us for the first time. ‘Come have
breakfast.’we will say.And perhaps, the week after that, as
part of your Sabbath practice, you might decide to come worship with them, ‘bring what you caught and we’ll cook it and
eat it together.’And we’ll
meet in the hospitality of God, who welcomes us all in and adjusts our lives to
newness, again and again.

Because we are a people of
resurrection. Yes, the Church big C, but this church, little c is a people of
resurrection. We have seen newness too many times not to believe it.God comes near and brings us new life -
and it’s happening again.

And here is the lovely thing
about it- it’s not what we do, it’s what God does.These people need new life, and God is bringing them new
life, God is making them into new life to us, and making us into new life to
them, and together we will encounter God differently than we did before, as we
begin to share the stories of resurrection that have sustained and changed us
all, the times when Jesus has called our name, has met us in doubt, has calmed
our fears, had challenged us away from our nets and summoned us into newness.

Now here’s the scary part.
It means we will change. Things wont stay the same.

Now that’s scary, for sure,
but it’s only very scary if you believe things wouldn’t already be changing, if
you believed you could keep everything the same for always, which we as human
beings try to do with predictable regularity.Just look at our disciples.

When things get scary and
feel new and different, sometimes we go back to what was familiar to try to get
our bearings. We pick up old
habits or step into old routines or roles, we hang out in the old places and
call up the old friends who you never really had to be real with but who were
good for when you wanted to forget for a while.And maybe that’s ok, for a time, to hide in the familiar.

But you can’t hide from
newness forever, and resurrection is a pretty relentless thing – so even if you
were to keep hunkering down like you’re still in what is past, going back to your
boat and taking up your nets and finding yourself trying to do what you did
when everything was familiar and predictable, and, if not comfortable, then at
least understood – it wont be long before a few things happen.

First, it wont be long
before the deadness of that seeps in. Before you discover what was is over and you
can’t go back, and the night drags on and the nets stay empty and in the quiet
of the inky water lapping around you, you begin to look within your soul and
find that you are letting fear and avoidance steer the boat because it’s just
too frightening to sit around in the indefinite mysterious and wait for God to
show you what is next.

And that night can get
mighty long.

So, when the dawn begins to
crack over the horizon, and you begin to be able to see the outline of the
people on either side of you, also in their own uncomfortable self-awareness
after each and every agonizing drawing up of the empty nets, you begin to feel
that you might need saving.From
yourself, from this moment, from the belief that there was anything there to go
back to, from the anxiety that keeps you pinned to this seat, rocking in these
gentle waves instead of back in the city, waiting with the scared and hopeful
others, anticipating the next move of God.

And then the figure strolls
across the beach and calls out, Dear
children, you haven’t caught anything, have you?And you sigh, and with resignation you call back in a single
word the entirety of this night of wrestling with emptiness, No.

You are almost pleading for
him to say, Come on in and forget it
then! Better luck next time! Anything to get you out of this rut and make
you face what’s really in front of you – which is this: Will you live in death
or will you live in resurrection? Will you hang onto what was, or will you step
fearfully and tentatively into whatever may be?By the time the stranger’s voice breaks the morning air, you
know what you will answer.

But instead the stranger
calls out, Drop the nets down the other
side!You will find some there.And suddenly a new way opens up, an
unexpected third route.You feel
your heart quicken and you stand and maneuver the nets down with the others,
and they’re instantly bursting with fish, and the answer pulses through you and
you feel yourself wanting to laugh and cry and scream and shout it out, It is the Lord!

I will live in resurrection!
I will live in abundance and new life and unexpected miracles and strange
encounters and unknown moments!Jesus is Risen! All bets are off- now and forever! Because even when you
pretend like everything is what it was, you know it could never really be again,
and now you can embrace what will be.

Then Peter, who should just
by this point be called, “Peter, Peter, Peter…” does what everyone is feeling
and shrieks in wonder and excitement and relief and hope.He pulls on his heavy clothes and
throws himself in the water – not able to stand one single minute more in this boat
of giving up and going back, this boat of trying to forget and stay still, this
boat of choosing the ease of death over the capriciousness of life.And he is propelled toward the Risen
one, swimming and straining to shore with all his might.

The rest of you figure, it’s
a minute from the beach and we’ll be out of it soon enough, so you row your
flopping, writhing, ridiculously abundant catch in to shore and fly off the bow
as soon as you feel the ground scrape.

Bring what you’ve just caught! He calls, and you watch Peter lunge into the boat
and grab the giant net, batting away help, dragging it all the way up the beach,
expending his excess of adrenaline and leaving a deep and wide groove in the
sand.

Come,
Jesus says. Come have breakfast.

The warmth of the charcoal
fire, the smell of sizzling fish, the welcoming arms, reaching out – come and
be, come and sit, come and settle, come and eat and drink and be.

And nobody dares ask him who
he is because you know that he is the Lord.In the old way, someone would’ve asked.Or knowing would have been simple and
required nothing more of you than glancing.

But you’ve begun to learn
this new way of knowing, this different way of grasping – this soul seeing that involves a feeling in
the gut and not so much relying on the eyes for proof.Everything is different – he’s
different, you’re different, all of life pulses differently, and you are
learning to be a resurrection people instead of a death people and you don’t
even dare question, it doesn’t even occur to you to ask, because you know already, and you couldn’t explain
it if someone asked how you knew, but
there is nothing truer or more sure than the knowledge that God is in your
midst right now, serving you breakfast.

After this Jesus and Peter
have a conversation, a forgiveness-thing, a reconciliation and new life kind of
thing, and Jesus keeps asking Peter if he loves him, and Peter keeps saying, you know that I do! And Jesus keeps on
answering, then Feed my sheep.

If you love me, feed my sheep.If you love me, feed my sheep.

And here you sit, with your
shepherd, being fed and welcomed, seen and forgiven, embraced and at home, and
you know that love is calling you to live the same. You don’t dare ask because
you know that being a resurrection
people isn’t a cold, distant unknown, that you have to figure out on your own,
that takes away all the familiar and leaves you stranded and lost in
frightening hypothetical “faith.”It is a warm and nourishing unknown, that you are never on your own,
that takes away all the familiar and leaves you connected and satisfied, and
broken open with real gratitude and love.

Being a resurrection people
means letting go of what we hang onto for cold comfort- the familiar that is no
longer relevant but so hard to move on from because it’s all we’ve known.

We’ve been doing some
purging in our house the last three weekends. Both the kids rooms and now their
toys and our family room, as we adjust our home to their current and future
ages and let go of where they were when those things were first set up.But it is so painful that I can’t be in
the room when they’re sorting and tossing and giving away.

Even though the kids have
outgrown them or don’t play with them anymore, who they were back then seems to
be tied to these things they loved back then, and it’s so hard to let go. Where
are we going? What is coming next? Who will we be? How can we make room for the
new if we are hanging onto the old so fiercely?

Or so thoughtlessly and
inattentively that we’ve stopped seeing it and don’t notice that we’ve crowded
out any possibility for new by surrounding ourselves with old and familiar –
even when it isn’t serving us anymore?

Jesus sets them free that
day on the beach, by awakening them again to the abundance of new life, the resurrection,
rule-breaking, preposterously lavish grace of God’s future that reaches into
the now and fills their silly nets with more than they know what to do
with.It drives them back to him,
sends them to his side, so that he can feed them breakfast, and remind them in
very earthy and ordinary ways that they are not alone, no matter what comes
next.

Being a resurrection people
also means that we are ready to stop, and laugh, and slow down, and receive the
gift of hospitality from our Risen Lord, to eat and drink together and trust
that God is leading us into what is next. It means letting love lead, and
feeding sheep, and calling out, “come have breakfast!” and welcoming others to
the meal.

Because there is something about
sitting down across from someone, listening to stories and eating and drinking
together, that reminds us that we are not alone, that we are alive, that God is
trustworthy, and that we are blessed.

So I look forward to what
happens when our community pats the cool sand next to us and says, sit down,
warm yourself, pass the bread, let’s be resurrection people together.

Amen.

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